


House in the Swamp; Ghost That Haunts

by Hugrf



Series: A Sun of Lavender [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rage, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Read at your own discretion, Suicidal Thoughts, Thoughts of Self-harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, arthur is not ok, but he's doing what he can, the dude in the swamp, the event itself is not explicit but i try to write a lot of the emotional stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugrf/pseuds/Hugrf
Summary: Arthur finds a house just off the road. The man on the porch invites him in for dinner, but he doesn't trust him, so instead he decides to rob him.He fails.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan
Series: A Sun of Lavender [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819708
Comments: 34
Kudos: 149





	1. Today It Happened and Tomorrow Will Feel The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo. This is my first posted fanfiction, so it'd be appreciated if y'all ain't mean or judgey about it ;-;
> 
> Also, please keep in mind the tags. While the event itself is not explicit, I try to write the reaction as detailed as I can.  
> I do not intend on sexualizing this part of the game in any way. It's awful that this (thankfully optionally) happens to Arthur, and even moreso that it's barely shown or mentioned afterwards the impact of it. I can understand why, with how long this game took to make and how in depth it is already, but it still feels out of place for Arthur to experience this and to be able to walk away from it as if nothing happened. I don't think anyone can really do that, not even him.  
> So, I wanted to expand on that, on his reaction and just what I think his mentality behind it may be like. I don't know if it's entirely realistic, but I tried my best, and I'm open to some light critiquing. c:
> 
> Anyway have fun suffering

It was noon.

Arthur was on horseback from Saint Denis, directionless except for the mental note he took to be back at camp by sundown. Until then, he would scout out the surrounding area for anything of use: an animal or plant to draw in his spare time, food to hunt or pick, a home to rob, anything he could find. His horse strode just off the path as he searched the swamp, eyes peeled for anything on his list or an alligator that he wouldn't see until it was too late. Such an incident only happened once, and both he and his horse were lucky to be alive. 

He stopped his horse. He pulled out his binoculars to catch a glimpse of wood planks just in between the trees. A home. As he approached it slowly, he noticed it was small, definitely too small for a family to live in it. Perhaps, if the owner was gone or if he could return by nightfall, it would have something useful in it somewhere. 

He approached to see a man on the porch, cutting up a fish. He hopped up to his feet, delighted to see Arthur.  
"What'cha doin' here? You lookin' for a friend?" He asked, his tone of voice sending a small butterfly through Arthur's gut.  
"I'll be your friend, if you let me." The man on the porch said. Arthur did not respond, simply watching him.  
"So, you hungry! I got food! I got food inside, come along!" Said the stranger before he opened the door and went inside.  
Arthur frowned. He took the safety off his gun, his hand kept close to it lest he have to use it. His immediate plan would be to put it to the man's head as soon as he got inside, then take whatever he needed. He did not trust the man.

He got off his horse and approached the house, stepping inside, and before he could grab his gun, turn, and aim, it happened.  
"Now, come here," the stranger said breathlessly as he slammed something, Arthur didn't know what, causing a sharp pain in the back of his head as he fell to the ground.

After that, it was black.

Woozy voices, flashes of color.

"Don't ya hate 'ol Sonny now." The sound of a belt clinking as it came undone. "Don't hate him."

Arthur opened his eyes. His body felt nonexistent, his head unable to form a coherent thought much less know what to make of what was happening. His vision was blurred, color off as he looked at the man from the porch.

"Oh, you struggled!" He seemed almost gleeful in saying so. "And you lost." False pity. "But it was quite a tussle, I tell you," he said as he smiled. "Quite a tussle, my pet."

The last thing he heard before blacking out again was his laugh, and the dark, oozing words the man said that Arthur could barely make out.  
"See, friendship ain't so tough, and neither is you."

\-------------

He heard noises. Felt things. Felt pain. Felt like his body was torn in half and wolves were chewing on the pieces. And all he could do was let it pass. Feel it. Wait for it to be over. Other than the immense amount of physical pain, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Like something else in him was being hollowed out, too.

When it ended, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed since then. Maybe he blacked out again.

The next thing he felt was dirt underneath him. Slowly, he came to, his eyes opening to the plain around him. He pushed himself up, glancing around. As his vision cleared, a realization struck him, threatening to push him back down with how fierce it was. 

"Oh, my lord." His voice filled with horror. Pain stabbed him again as he forced himself to stand, and he winced, but made himself ignore it. He had been through worse pain, with bullets getting lodged in his body and him being the only one to get it out before cauterizing the wound with a candle. Even he was impressed with how much he had survived. He was lucky to survive then, and lucky to survive now, though he surely didn't feel it.

As agonizing as the pain was, blood coated in between his thighs, it was the least of his concerns. It was a different type of pain.  
He felt everything, yet nothing all at once.  
Felt like screaming, like crying, like shooting himself if he had to put up with it any longer.  
And yet, he felt so, so empty.

He knew pain. He knew it far too well. He knew what it was like to wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare, to hear, smell, or even think of something and then start to feel like it was happening all over again. He would drown it out whenever he could with whatever he could, even if it meant hurting others sometimes. He was tired of it. Tired of fearing for his life, for the lives of the others, for being reminded of death and those he had lost. He would never escape the life of an outlaw, and proudly so, but it sure brought a lot of grief and pain with it.

This was different, though. He knew it would haunt him, but it was a different ghost. A living ghost.

Rage boiled up inside Arthur. He was so tired, so sore, and when he got on the saddle, too late did he realize again he was in pain. He gritted his teeth, then tried to shift his weight to minimalize it.  
Revenge was a fool's game, he reminded himself, but it was a game that he, for once, was willing to play. He didn't care anymore.  
He didn't care if it got him hurt again, violated again, or even killed. Sonny was going to pay.

He took the reins, kicked, and off they went, his horse speeding until they found the road again. It wasn't long before Arthur got his bearings and realized just how close by Sonny had dumped him.  
_Dumb piece of shit,_ Arthur thought. _Too fucking stupid to dump me somewhere far away, let alone kill me._  
Sonny had made his mistake, and now, all Arthur wanted to see was him bleeding and screaming.

He saw the house again. A dull streak of fear shot through his chest, a scream in his head telling him to run away as fast as possible. He didn't listen.  
Arthur had his guns with him, but didn't intend on using them this time. No, he had a far more malicious plan. Fuck honor. Fuck the "fool's game." Fuck it all.

Sonny was on the porch, just like he was the first time. He said things about how he wasn't supposed to be here, pleading with him to leave, but the red cloth of rage draped itself over Arthur's head, blinding and deafening him to all but his goal.  
He followed Sonny inside, and before giving him any chance to escape, Arthur lunged with a rope and grabbed his arms, shoving him down on the floor. He tied him into a tight hogtie.  
He said something about ejaculation. Arthur punched him, then threw him over his shoulder to carry back out into the swamp. Sonny struggled and squealed like a wild hog.  
"I don't want you near me!" He shouted. Arthur gritted his teeth. _Rich, coming from you._

"You messed with the wrong man, _pal._ " Arthur snarled, emphasizing 'pal' sarcastically.  
As soon as Arthur spotted an alligator, he made his way toward it.  
"No, don't!" Yelled Sonny.  
Arthur threw him at the large beast, and almost immediately it clamped its jaws around his head and tore it clean off.

Arthur watched coldly as the alligator had its meal.


	2. Forget About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wants to forget, but he can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S., anything I write in this chapter does not reflect on my actual thoughts at all. This is all purely from Arthur's perspective. Just wanted to make that clear just in case anything is confusing

By the next day, Arthur rode up near Annesburg down by the river that led into Elysian Pool. He stripped himself of his clothes, washed them, and then hung them over a tree branch to dry before he dunked himself in the water. It was bitter cold. Arthur winced, letting himself get more used to the temperature before he began his "bath."

Perhaps it would be a better idea to go into town and rent a bath at the motel. Perhaps. However, to him, the wild river felt safer than anywhere remotely civilized, especially now. He had the risk of being caught in the act, but rarely did anyone venture off the roads this far.

He excessively scrubbed and cleaned every part of his body that he could. It helped. Not much, but it helped. The vile, lingering feeling of Sonny's touch whenever he came to during the event was unshakable, but slightly dulled. To Arthur, that was enough. On the plus side, it did ease the pain he still felt in his body.

He got out of the water, squeezed water out of his hair, and sat in the grass next to his horse, Rain, and the campfire he had set up. The warm fire and cool wind would dry him up, though not soon enough, he felt.  
Something itched at him in the back of his mind, nudging him about how exposed he was. Every second it had become increasingly unpleasant.

He could distract himself: write in his journal, whittle a stick, clean his guns, do anything to pass the time. Instead, he did nothing. He stared at the fire, only moving to feed more wood into it. Otherwise, he didn't know exactly how long he was staring.

No one was going to know what happened. He would tell no one, keep it behind lock and key, try his damnedest to act normal despite all. His mind would be like the flames before him now, encased by a cold exterior. No one would be allowed to see inside. Not in his journal, not anywhere.  
Even if no one dared touch his journal, he didn't want to acknowledge what happened.  
If he acknowledged it, it would be real.  
If he told someone, it would be real.  
He questioned if he was real, if he was alive. He was still breathing, so surely he must be.  
Sonny wasn't still breathing, though. He could leave it all behind now, write it off as a simple mistake, and pretend it never happened.

If he told someone, how would they react anyway?

Would any of them care? Understand? Acknowledge his pain?  
Or would they think and call him weak? Dismiss him, wish that he had never told them in the first place?  
Would they hate him? He didn't know why he thought that, but the insecurity kept etching at him. Arthur didn't care what people thought, not usually, but many of the people in his gang were the exception. The women, particularly Tilly, and then Hosea and Dutch. He cared about Charles' and Javier's views, too, to an extent, but no rejection would sting worse than Hosea's and Dutch's.

He didn't want to risk it.

Thankfully, he was an expert on how to act normal in even the most stressful of circumstances. Normal enough, anyway. He could shut off, show no one how he felt. Tell no one.

In the afternoon, he slipped on his now dry clothes and headed back to Saint Denis. It was odd to think how two days ago, he was cheerful enough to greet people as he rode past them, saying good morning no matter who they were. Now, he couldn't even muster up the energy for it.  
As his horse pranced down the street, Arthur held a dead look in his eye. He was silent, moving only to glance at others to make sure he wouldn't run into them.

Arthur had a lot of money left over from killing and robbing with his fellow gang members. Most certainly he could afford a good few drinks, so he directed his horse down the street to the closest saloon.  
He wanted to forget the feeling of Sonny's disgusting flesh on his, of what he had done to him. To forget how his power had been forcefully stripped from him by a hillbilly living in the swamp with a dirty house.  
He would do anything to forget, even just to ease the void in his chest.

When he got to the counter, he ordered a shot of whiskey that he downed within a second.  
"Keep 'em coming." Arthur said, placing the money for five more shots in front of him. The bartender took the money and hesitated to pour them out for Arthur.  
"You okay there, mister? Maybe don't drink it so fast. Might be fallin' off your horse on your way home." The bartender laughed.  
"Yeah." Was all Arthur replied with, monotone. He didn't look him in the eye.

\--

By the time night fell, Arthur drank enough to laugh and talk to people again. A lot of it was gibberish, but the two men he talked to, also drunk, nodded like they understood. Arthur was vaguely amused by this.

“And then, tha beer came along, and he just takes one good look at that big thang and it’s liek… He’s stuck to ta ground ‘r somefin’. Woulda been ded had’t not been fer me, ‘cos I pulled out muh guns ‘n jus’ started shootin’. Bar turns high tail ‘n runs, and I turn ‘n see Hosea’s jus’ liek –“ Arthur made a shocked face. “Guess he shouldn’t been bear huntin’ no mo’.” He slurred with a hearty laugh, and the two men he spoke to followed suit.

"Well, I shood get goin'." Arthur slurred. "Bet ma horse is missin' me." He rose to his feet, kept his balance with a little concentration on doing so.  
"Make sure it's the right horse." One of the men said.  
"Bye!" The other said.  
Arthur waved them off, grinning like an idiot. He stumbled slowly toward the exit, making sure he wouldn't bump into any of the tables when he bumped into something else.

Arthur glanced behind himself to see a man in a yellow vest turn in a snap. His face was as red as blood, his glare like bullets aimed at Arthur.  
"Watch where you're going." The man in the yellow vest snarled.  
"Calm doooown." Arthur said with a half-hearted grin, and in an instant, earned himself a punch square in the jaw.

Arthur took a moment to regain his balance and process what had just happened.  
"Whassat for?" Arthur mumbled out. He stared at his hat, of which had fallen onto the floor.  
The man's answer was another punch to his chest. Arthur looked back on him. It wasn't the first time he had dealt with an angry drunkard, thankfully.  
The man aimed to strike again, but Arthur's senses kicked in fast. He blocked it, and was quick to strike him once, twice, enough to make him stumble back onto a table. Before Arthur could pin him against it, the yellow vest man grabbed a bottle and broke it over Arthur's head.

Shards sent light cuts across his cheek, landing on the floor and his shoulders. Anger stung Arthur through the half-drunken, half-adrenalized cloud that was his head. He winced, and before he could block, the man thrusted his fist into Arthur's liver, forcing him to his knees at the shock.  
Yellow vest man pushed him fully onto the ground and gave him another punch. Arthur could faintly hear the screams of alarm around them as people watched, staying as far away from the fight as they could.

"Not so tough now, ain't ya?" Yellow vest man hollered.  
In a split second, Arthur felt the adrenaline in his veins pumping faster than before. The look on his face changed into a sinister glare at the stranger, almost as if he said 'how fucking dare you'?  
Arthur grabbed the collar of the man's shirt. He pulled him down, and with as much force as he could muster in his current state, he clocked him straight in the nose.

The man yelped, leapt back, holding his nose as it oozed red as fast as a rushing river.  
Even Arthur was surprised he managed to do that. He stared in awe, then scrambled to his feet. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the yellow vest man spoke first.  
"Look at what you've done!" He screamed.  
"You started it." Said Arthur. Though generally an accusatory line, Arthur's tone held more shock than anything.

His heart was pounding in his ears, hands shaking. _Not so tough now, ain't ya?_  
He felt the exact same thing he wanted to escape. It came back vividly, crawling through his skin and sending an awful shudder down his spine.

Arthur was hit with a strong wave of nausea, and before he could fully register it as such, he vomited out whatever alcohol his stomach didn't want to deal with anymore.  
He heard insults thrown his way and at the man. "Drunkard" was definitely one of them. He heard more shouts of alarm, many concerned with how much blood was coming out of the yellow vest man. Some called for the doctor, some called for the law.

When he heard mentions of the police, he took one glance at the man he had fought with, and then fled.  
He threw himself onto Rain's saddle and kicked. He sped as fast as he possibly could through the city, out into the wild. For all he knew, he could've somehow killed the man with how much he was bleeding.  
He rode and rode further than what was necessary. The city was like a wolf, Arthur the deer, the prey. Seeing the swamp again was like a cougar had lunged out of the bushes, missing the frantic deer by a hair during the chase. He had to get as far away as possible from both, and so he did.

He set up camp not too far from the river he bathed in that morning.

He considered eating, but his appetite was completely gone. All he had was water, whiskey, and an apple that day, but it didn't matter. He went straight to his sleeping roll under the tent he pitched up.

He didn't know if he could sleep. He didn't want to do anything else, though, so it seemed his only option. Lie down and wait until he was tired.  
Even under a tent, far off in the wilderness, he felt it still, felt something crawl through his skin. This time, it made him feel like he would be hunted down at any moment, that a stranger, bounty hunter, anyone would leap out of the bushes and do as they pleased.  
It was a long time ago when Arthur Morgan had first received a bounty on his head, but only now did he feel this. He knew paranoia, but not to this extent.  
He could ask himself why he was so paranoid, but he knew the answer, he just didn't want to acknowledge it.  
It was silly for him to be so affected by this. It was a one time thing, when he had experienced worse over and over again. Things that sent him to dark places. Things that affected him, changed him. And never was anything like _this._

He didn't know if it was better or worse, all he knew was that it was different.  
It was humiliating. Humiliating how paranoid he was, how much pressure was built in his chest, consuming him.  
It was humiliating how powerless he felt, how easily it had been for him to be - Arthur's breath shuddered. It was humiliating how easy it had been for him to get hurt like that.  
_Stop feelin' sorry for yourself. You lived, and that's what matters._ Arthur told himself, though it did nothing to make him feel better. He only kept spiraling.

 _I didn't want him doing that to me. I didn't want him to. I didn't want anyone to touch me. No one was supposed to._ Arthur thought, his throat closing up painfully.  
_Why did that happen? I could've pulled my gun on him quicker. Why couldn't I? Should've shot him there and then. Ran for the hills. Should've known better than to trust a stranger. But I didn't trust him, did I? I was just too slow. If only I could've pulled faster. I could have! I'm the fastest there is, ain't I?_

His thoughts were flooding him too fast to catch. Even if he tried, he would turn a corner back to square one, somehow twisting it back into thinking about what Sonny did.  
He felt disgusted and embarrassed as his mind shoved him again back into the event. Echoes in his skin, in his ear of Sonny using him as he found himself unable to fight back.  
He could feel it again.

Arthur was sent uncontrollably hyperventilating and crying. He curled up into a ball, desperately wishing he could escape his body, sleep, _anything_ that would finally purge of him this pain and the chance of it ever returning.

 _Go away, go away, go away._ His thoughts shouted over and over until he felt like he would explode. He knocked his knuckles against his head, wishing he could crack it open and take it out, take out the memories.

He deserved this. Deserved to get a peg knocked down from his ego, his pride. He had killed so many, and hurt many more. He deserved punishment, and finally, it had come.

In the midst of his crying, he heard a heavy footstep and a shadow linger over him, blocking the sight of the dying campfire.  
Arthur blinked open his eyes, rubbing the blur away. He looked up to see Rain's large, narrow head peeking into the tent with ears perked.  
Even in the midst of his hyperventilating, his sobs, he managed to emit a small bout of hysterical laughter. Even his horse was concerned for him.  
Somehow, that thought was comforting.

Arthur shakily climbed out of his tent and rose to his feet.

"Wh-what you u-up to, b-boah?" Arthur whimpered. He stepped closer to Rain, reaching out to stroke his soft, gray muzzle and his white-grey mane. He took off Rain's saddle, grabbed his brush, and used it on his back; Rain's favorite spot. Rain's ears flickered gratefully.  
Arthur didn't know how long he was brushing him, but Rain seemed quite content with it. He made sure to give his favorite spots an extra brush.  
"S-sure am glad no one's here to see me like this." He whispered to Rain. He set down the brush, and then took a wild carrot out of his satchel, offering it to the horse open-palmed. He munched it down happily.  
Arthur leaned into the stallion, wrapping his arms around his neck.  
"You're a pretty boah. I love you." There was a crack in Arthur's voice.

Rain was tolerant of the hug, it seemed, and even fell half-asleep with the human holding onto him.  
Arthur held onto him until minutes later, he realized he was calm. And very, very tired.

Finally, at peace enough to rest.


	3. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur returns to camp.

It had been a week since his first breakdown that night. Many others followed closely behind, and even Rain couldn't always soothe him.

He was so, so tired. Physically and mentally. So many things, little or big, would remind him of Sonny, what he had done. He only wished it would stop. He would drop it, leave it behind, and it always came back to catch him.

He let out a heavy sigh. He was situated on Rain off the side of the road, a look of apathy given to whoever would pass him. He watched the sky, the birds with a cold, numb feeling in his chest.  
He knew grief, torture, rejection, just about everything bad that a man could experience. It all hurt. Living with it hurt. What happened in the swamp was the boulder that set off the rockslide, so to speak, and holy fuck was it a boulder.

It was different than the others, yet the same; it brought new feelings, new thoughts, but still traumatic nonetheless.  
But, again, it was new. He didn't know how to cope with something so new, so devastating that it sent him into spirals he found hard to get out of again. He was used to death, being hunted, the potential of being tortured, of being killed. He was used to being insulted and the likes of which. He was used to being shot at, hated, and treated as inferior. He knew how to build walls, defend himself, to point his guns, his antlers when he needed to.  
What happened in that house was not something he had ever experienced or expected. Admittedly, it was not a subject he thought about much. It filled him with anger whenever he saw anyone dare talk, threaten, or speak to someone like they were a hole to put themselves in, a creature to conquer and to hurt. The day he found Karen in that hotel room with that man was one he had never forgotten. The man deserved his death that day.  
Arthur silently wished that he, too, had been saved like her.

He wished he could sleep forever. He didn't know exactly why it had burdened him so much, even then, but he wanted nothing more than to run away from it.

Maybe Sonny should've shot him.

A part of Arthur wished he hadn't killed him. He didn't know why, for surely, it was only rational to kill someone like that. It was clear Sonny had done that many times before, and to let him go free to do it even more was immoral at that point.  
But a part of him wished he could approach him. Show him the damage he had done. Ask him to finish the job, to take his gun and use it.

"Hey, Arthur." A familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Javier on his horse approach him.  
"Hello, Javier."  
"Dutch sent me looking for you." Javier stopped his horse. Arthur couldn't quite read his face, but if he had to guess, he seemed concerned. "He's really worried about you. Haven't seen you in over a week now."  
Arthur's eyes narrowed.  
"Tell him I'm fine." He said, blank.  
"Alright." Javier furrowed his brow, turning his horse in the opposite direction. Hesitantly, he added: "want to come back and tell him yourself?"  
Arthur thought it over. Maybe it was about time he came back. Maybe the company of his companions could take his mind off of things. Not to mention, it was selfish of him to run off for so long. They needs guards. Food. Chores done. A small sigh slipped out of him.  
"Sho'." And with that, he kicked off, following Javier back to camp.

"Dutch seems to be on edge these past few days. When I left, he looked like he was going to have my hide if I didn't return with you."  
"Is that so?" Arthur muttered.  
"Yeah." Javier chuckled. "Everyone was worried, actually. You never leave this long. What kept you away?"  
"Just got lost is all." He sniffed. "Thought I'd take a shortcut somewhere. Ended up completely somewhere else."  
"Wow. Find anything interesting, at least?" Javier said.  
"Nope."  
They approached the camp now. Javier hitched his horse, Arthur following suit.  
"Well, it's good to have you back, Arthur. Pearson just finished his stew if you want to get some. I'm gonna go tell Dutch you're back." Javier said as he walked off, Arthur muttering an 'alright' before giving Rain a quick pat. Though he had barely eaten in the past week, he had no appetite for the meaty stew Pearson made. His mind was only on one thing, and that was sleep. He paced toward his tent, too tired to say much more than a 'hi' or 'thanks' when members of the camp greeted him with grateful voices. He was caught halfway by Dutch, who grinned and patted him on the shoulder.

"Arthur!" His loud, raspy voice practically boomed in his ear. "My boy! Where have you been? I was starting to get worried you just up and died on us. Or ran away."  
"Nah, never." Arthur said.  
Dutch laughed. "Good. You're just in time, too, me and Hosea were thinking of -"  
"Dutch, with all due respect, I have barely slept a wink these past few days and I'd like to get some sleep right now." Arthur said, agitated.  
Dutch raised a brow at him. "It's barely past noon."  
"I know. I don't mind being awake for most of the night."  
Dutch pinched his nose and sighed. "Alright, fine. Bye, Arthur."  
Arthur moved past him with a quiet farewell in return.

It was almost immediate for him to fall asleep as soon as he lied down.

\--

_Dark blues scattered the landscape, with the shadows of trees, flora, and tents as black as an abyss.  
Arthur realized he was in camp, despite the obvious differences laid out before him. Yet, beyond the coloration, he felt something was terribly wrong. So terribly wrong.  
He rose from his bed to look at the mirror placed atop a barrel that he often used for shaving.  
Instead of seeing himself, he saw a void that looked vaguely humanoid in figure. It held silver outlines like a drawing from one of his journals, and vaguely looked like himself, but if he tried to pick out key features, the silver lining would only fade. Smoke rose out of the figure.  
He looked up from the mirror, panicked. He saw the figure of Dutch off in the distance, shadowed figure almost camouflaged in the background of blue and black. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  
Arthur heard a voice he had never heard before, one so uniquely high-pitched that he was sure he would never hear it again, either.  
"Why did you die?" It spoke softly._

Arthur jolted awake. He felt a weighty pang in his chest, like a fierce bout of nausea minus the vomiting. It was something he had felt before to a slighter extent usually shortly followed by thoughts of him or his gang getting killed or hurt.

Yet somehow, out of nowhere, it struck deeper and harder. It was suffocating him.  
Death's lingering grip did not make Arthur feel afraid for himself, though it did for everyone else in the gang. He would push on and survive for them to make sure they would live, that they would be okay no matter what. If he had to go, though, so be it, he thought.  
But he would be lying now if he didn't wish for an escape. It didn't have to be death, he just wanted to get out of his body. He wished he could turn into someone, or something else. He wished he could morph into a bird or buck and run off into the wild, pretending his human life had never existed.

Yet, no matter how deeply he longed, how much he suffered, he knew he'd be stuck. And he had to live with that.

He stretched, then started to patrol around the camp in search of whatever there may be that could take his mind off of himself.  
It didn't take him long before he spotted Lenny, Hosea, Javier, and Pearson by the campfire. Lenny was telling a story, Javier gently strumming his guitar, Hosea in his chair and listening, and Pearson on the log, doing the same.  
Arthur tried to stick to the darkness and eavesdrop, but before he could catch a word, Lenny looked at him and waved.  
"Hey, Arthur. Come join us." He said. Arthur hummed in response. He dreaded the idea of conversation, but it was too late now. He sighed and took a seat next to Pearson.  
"You know, you missed a lot." Lenny began, and without giving Arthur a chance to reject the catch-up, he continued. "A few days ago, me and Javier tried to rob another coach. O'Driscolls showed up, though. Seems like they're starting to push down south, now."  
Arthur merely nodded in response.

"Yeah. Charles almost got into a fight with Micah, too. Don't blame him. Micah was spitting some real nasty things at him." Hosea said, a hint of amusement in his voice.  
Arthur cared for Charles far more than he wanted to admit. He bit his lip, feeling a beat of anger.  
"Karen and Susan have been fighting a lot, too." Hosea added. Arthur didn't look at any of them, only the ground, but in that moment, he could feel Hosea's gaze bearing into him. He didn't want to speculate on why.

"Sounds eventful." Was all Arthur said, unable to say much else lest he get more annoyed, even if there was nothing to _be_ annoyed at.  
The others around the campfire murmured in agreement. A comfortable silence, other than the flowery sounds of Javier's guitar, came over them. Arthur embraced it. Unfortunately, it didn't last as long as he would've liked.  
"So, Arthur. I heard you got lost out there. You had a map and a compass with you, right? What happened to them?" Arthur felt that same sense of 'nausea' ring through his chest again. "Still have 'em. Just went a little too far and then suddenly didn't know my way back. Map or compass didn't help. Went all the way up in the Grizzlies, so I thought. Must've been further, though, since I couldn't pinpoint where I was." "Must have quite a story to tell there." Pearson chipped in. "Yeah, what was you doin' up there all the way in the middle of nowhere?" Lenny said.

"Just went to go check something out, and on my way, I took a shortcut that got me lost. That's all. No big story." Arthur said, nearly wincing when he realized his annoyance slipped into his tone. Lenny opened his mouth to say something, but Hosea spoke first. "Alright, Arthur." He said. "At least you found your way home." Javier and Pearson murmured their agreement, though Lenny stayed silent. Arthur caught a glance of the slight frown on his face.

"Well. I'm going to help guard." Arthur stood up and said. "Y'all take care." He sauntered off toward the trees, taking a gun as he headed toward his position. The four at the campfire must've thought he was out of earshot when they spoke up again. "Arthur's lying." That was Hosea, pity in his tone. "Yeah, I figured as much. Why would he be lying though?" Lenny said. He heard Hosea grunt, pick up a stick, and poke at the fire. "When Arthur lies... Well, I wouldn't say it's for a good reason, but it's usually personal. Something he just doesn't want to talk about, nothing against anyone. In due time, maybe he'll tell one of us. Maybe he won't. In the meantime, leave him be." Hosea's voice was gentle, yet firm. Lenny silently agreed, and Arthur decided to stop listening.

He switched with Bill's position of guard and watched the night. His thoughts were accompanied by Hosea's words for the rest of his time standing guard. He couldn't help but _hate_ how well some of them knew him, yet at the same time, deep down, he knew he appreciated it. He appreciated their concern. Not that he wanted them to be.

\--

The sun stood at the top of the trees, and his pocketwatch read it to be noon. Arthur had been awake all night and all morning. Only now did the effects of that start to weigh on him, just how long he had been awake combined with how much his body and mind craved the peace of sleep. Instead of giving in, however, Arthur had coffee, not that it did much.  
He sat in a chair in the shade of the trees next to Hosea's tent. He stared at his journal, blank.  
He had drawn a lot. Definitely a lot of birds after his birdwatching when he was still "lost." Ever since the swamp incident, though, Arthur could barely bring himself to write. Any ideas were ones he couldn't find the motivation for to put on paper, much less formulate them into words at all. 

He kept staring, trying to find any ounce of motivation, _anything,_ growing more desperate by the minute. Still, nothing came.  
He sighed, closed the journal, and pinched his nose. He slid it back into his satchel, looking over the camp for anything he could do in the meantime. Perhaps he could do some chores; chop wood, feed the horses, bring the f -

"Hey, Arthur!" That was bill. Arthur greeted him in a low, quiet tone, his exhaustion obvious.  
Arthur, annoyed by his interruption, tried to keep thinking and tune him out.  
"Was down in the swamps." Bill began. "Met a strange man who knew all about you."  
Yet, Arthur knew himself. When he wanted to tune someone out, he couldn't. When he didn't want to, he had to sometimes exert a lot of effort into paying attention. He sighed, hoping Bill would leave him alone soon.  
"Is that so?" Arthur looked at him. There was a dark smile on Bill's face that gave Arthur a bad feeling.  
"Yeah. And I mean he knew ALL about you." Bill said, elongating the 'all' to match his sick implication.

Arthur took a moment to process what he had just said. Slowly, the look he gave Bill turned into a glare. He felt like an arrow had been shot through his heart, and along with it came with an immense wave of anger.  
_"Get the fuck out of here."_ Arthur snarled.  
It was a rare sight to see Bill so intimidated, one that Arthur was vaguely proud to see. Bill held up his hands as if though he were surrendering, his eyes wide.  
"Alright." Bill said before he turned, practically scrambling away from him. Arthur watched him go, chest heavy with fluid and poison as his anger dissipated.

 _He knows, doesn't he?_ Arthur thought. _He knows. He might tell the whole camp. He better not._ He felt like his head was spinning like a violent tornado. _He knows. Fuck, he knows._  
How did he know? How did Bill speak with him? He had killed Sonny. Bill had to have spoken with him in a short timeframe. Unless that timeframe was longer than Arthur realized. Why was Bill there in the first place? Did he know Sonny?  
Arthur bit his lip far harder than he realized, hard enough to taste iron as pain clouded his mind. His head swiveled in search of anyone who could have overheard.

No one was close. Thank god.

Then it dawned on him.

He was by Hosea's tent, who had gone in there earlier to read by himself. He couldn't remember if he saw him leave.  
He didn't want to check.  
Instead, he fled, attempting to stay out of the sight of his gang members by staying on the beach behind the slopes. He ran until he got to the forest, far out of sight.

As soon as he was there, he collapsed on his knees.

His breath felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. He placed his hands on the ground, feeling the mud in between his fingers.

He didn't know how long he was there, staring at the ground, his mind going over Bill's words and Sonny's assault until he couldn't stand it.

He could faintly feel it again, feel like his body was getting split in two, as he had felt far too many times before after what happened. He wanted to scream, tell whatever was making him feel it again to stop, but every time, no matter what, he was powerless. Completely and utterly powerless.

He was stuck there and couldn't move other than to flop on his side, careless of being half-sunken into the mud.

He was like a deer's fawn, his only defense being to stare, deep in terror, while he could only hope the wolf who was mere feet away would pass him by. 

He wanted to tear his guts out. Rid himself of what had been defiled. Break his skull against a tree to get the ghosts out, bite off the hands that failed him.

But again, Arthur couldn't move. In the midst of his morbid thoughts, he felt as if though he were merely a bystander to himself. A man watching a terrible and sadistic show at the theater, just waiting for it to get to the next segment.

Arthur's eyes were open. He was entirely awake, but for hours it felt like he was sleeping with how time passed. Even when he felt his soul somewhat return to his body, the worst of his pain over though his worries about Bill and Hosea remaining, he didn't move. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't feel like he could do anything.

 _Might as well continue lying here like I'm dead, then._ Arthur thought with a tint of bitterness toward himself. _Guess I feel dead, anyway._


	4. Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea is worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost made this and the next chapter one whole chapter but decided to split them. Here u go y'all I hope this ain't too OOC

Hosea knew Arthur.  
He had twenty years to get to know him so well, since the beginning of the Van Der Linde gang.  
He knew every tic, quirk, flaw, and strength of Arthur that even the man himself didn't see.  
He knew that Arthur suffered more than he let on, trudging through snow and swamp to remain strong, standing as a pillar of strength for the others and himself.  
He knew that there were many things he didn't know about Arthur.

He knew the few things that made him happy, what kept him moving through said snow and swamp. Big things, like the gang, his family, to his horses, to that little journal he kept safely tucked away in his satchel or in his hands.  
Hosea fondly recalled the day he caught sight of what Arthur put in it. He remembered the sketch of an opossum running through grass that he asked about, and before he realized that he may have overstepped a boundary, Arthur smiled and briefly stuttered when he explained his drawing.  
"I-I found an opossum, just outside camp, and... I just decided to draw it. Thought he was a cute little fella."  
"Do you do that often? Just drawing the local wildlife?"  
Arthur slowly nodded. "Yeah. Kind of how I document any new critters I see. Sometimes I even go out into the plains just to see the birds that fly around over there." He shuffled awkwardly.

Hosea felt a spark of curiosity and a hint of embarrassment that he didn't know about Arthur's hobby sooner. He asked if he could see what else he drew, and, reluctant, Arthur accepted on the condition that Hosea wouldn't read the words.

When Hosea flipped through the pages, looking at each of the wildlife drawings Arthur made, he felt a sense of awe.  
"You ever think of being an artist, making money off of your artwork? This level of skill, why, I think you can definitely make that work." Hosea let out a huff of amusement, as if though his words were almost obvious. "It looks so real. Especially the way you draw plants - Didn't know you could make so much detail with that dinky little pencil of yours."  
Hosea swore he would never forget how Arthur beamed at his words, his hands fumbling with eachother as he took in the compliment.  
"Nah, it ain't anything special. I just put a bunch of lines together until I think they form close 'nough to what I want."  
"Just take the compliment. Not everyone can put together a bunch of lines and make it look this realistic." Hosea chuckled.

Arthur thanked him, joy held heavy in his voice when he said so.

Such rare moments, they were, to see such joy radiating from Arthur.

The more frequent times he saw a glimmer of said joy was when Arthur spoke to his horses. It was in the way he spoke to them, talked to them and showed more affection to them than he did any human being.  
He had three, all whom he loved equally.  
Rain, the striped gray racehorse he fell in love with instantly and bought.  
Leo, the horse Hosea found and told him to sell, only Arthur decided to keep him instead. Why? "I like draft horses. Plus, this one's pretty." Hosea could tell that bond grew much deeper over time, though.  
Then there was Sonya. A skittish nokota with dreadlocked hair and scars all over her body. Arthur said he had been jumped on the road by the Murfree Brood, and was quick to shoot them down where they stood. Only, when he saw her, blood staining her gorgeous blue-grey coat, fear in her eyes, he took pity on her and brought her back to be cleaned up. He pitied her, even held empathy for the poor soul. Over time, she grew to trust him, and he was the only one she trusted, demonstrated by Bill nearly recieving a kick in the head for daring to go near her. 

He noticed, too, it wasn't just his horses he treated with such respect, though they were more personal to him.  
Each dog he saw, he covered with affection if he was allowed so. Each cat he saw, he did the same. Each prey and predator, whether the item in his hand was a gun or binoculars, he carried that respect with him. Any carcass, he tried not to waste. 

It was strange, yet endearing to see Arthur fall in love with whatever wasn't human, even going so far as to draw them in as much detail as he could.

Even stranger was when Arthur stopped falling in love.

His stoic demeanor was consistent no matter who or what he spoke to, and his temper was just the same. He was cold, constantly tired, and nothing would change that.

It wasn't the way he kept to himself, didn't look anyone in the eyes, and appeared to have lost any joy he had that worried Hosea, however. 

It was as simple as how he spoke to even Sonya when she nudged his satchel for an apple, or lost his own temper when Leo did his at the other horses.

Even when all of the word came crashing down on Arthur Morgan, he always made sure to be patient and kind to his horses.

Something was different.

It was when he was thinking about confronting Arthur when he heard him and Bill talk outside of the tent he borrowed to read in.  
Something about a man Arthur knew in the swamp, he reckoned, but with the way the conversation went, an implication was thrown out that Hosea curled his lip at, frowning. He decided it best not to make an assumption for now.  
When the subject was dropped, he heard Arthur flee like a rabbit running from a fox.

Hosea had ideas of why, but he didn't linger on any of them too much. 

He decided he would wait, hope Arthur came back soon, and if he didn't, he'd go out himself.

Before he knew it, an hour passed, and he regretted his decision not to go after him immediately.  
He closed his book, brought two of his guns, and was quick to set off, tracking Arthur's bootprints in the mud. 

It wasn't long before he saw the man. He was lying on his side, and Hosea's heart skipped a beat, wondering if he was too late. He sprinted fast, nearly tripping over the muddy terrain, gripping the handle of his gun in anticipation of an ambush. Arthur jerked up, looking at Hosea with wide eyes. Hosea slid to a stop, frowning, then relaxed his grip on his gun.

"What are you doing here?" He nearly stuttered out the words. He was relieved, yet a feeling still lingered that something was wrong.

He watched Arthur's eyes shift from side to side as he rose to a stand, his entire left side caked and stained in mud.  
"Nothing." Arthur said.  
"Nothing?"  
"Nothing."  
"Why are you out here, doing nothing? You should be back at camp. You can hunt, too. We're running low, you know." Hosea said.  
Arthur drew his gaze down to his boots.  
Hosea stepped in closer, trying to look him in the eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just tired is all." Arthur bit his lip. "Guess I didn't mind the mud so much this time."  
Arthur stepped forward, stretching as he slowly headed back to camp. By the way his bones creaked and the way he had to adjust his walk, it was clear he had been lying there a while, if not the whole hour.  
Hosaea knew it was another lie. It was clear. He would let it go for now, though.  
He sighed, rolled his shoulders, then followed him from a distance, spotting wade into the lake to wash the mud off as best as he could. He didn't seem keen on taking any clothes off.

"Arthur, if you need anything, or if you need to tell me anything, just let me know, alright?"

Arthur looked at him, then resumed his "bath." He waved him off without a response.

\--

Hosea wondered about Arthur, whether this change in his behavior was permanent or not. Throughout the week, it was becoming apparent that it would be.

Arthur had new, strange behaviors. Bathing more than usual, leaving more often, hunting more often, though he'd rarely spend the night outside of the camp. He'd do many chores throughout the day to keep himself busy if he wasn't hunting.  
Next to that, Arthur rarely stopped to talk to the other members of the camp, even him or Dutch barely had an opportunity to have a conversation with him. When they did manage to start a conversation up, it wasn't hard to anger or annoy him. Arthur would hold back from lashing out for all gang members except for Micah or Bill, and in those exceptions, he almost started a fist fight one too many times. If someone wasn't one of those exceptions, however, it would be written all over his face, and no one would know what they said that deserved the look of annoyance or disgust on Arthur's face.

Sometimes, the others would tease him for reaching new heights of crankiness they did not think possible. Surprisingly, Arthur barely reacted to it when it was mentioned.

Hosea tried not to let it bother him, though more and more, through each incident he could point out where he saw Arthur was different, it did.  
He had to talk to him.

It was evening when Hosea approached him. He didn't want to bother him after a long day, but he didn't want to ruin his day, either. Hopefully it was a happy medium.  
Arthur was leaned up against a tree, staring out at the lake while Jack sorted through the shallowest part of the water for clams, as he found out soon enough. Cain sat at the shoreline, watching protectively over the child.  
Arthur gave Jack advice on how to find the clams, and when that subject was done, Hosea decided to lean in and whisper.  
"Arthur, can we talk?"  
Arthur nodded. He lazily pulled away from his tree and led Hosea to an area near the camp where no one would bother or listen to them.

Silence hung over the air as Hosea contemplated his words, making sure he'd do this right. He didn't want to force anything out of Arthur, he just wanted to see what was going on with him.

"You know, you've not been acting yourself lately. Ever since you got back to camp that one time. Now, you don't need to tell me anything, I'm just concerned - is there anything going on? Anything that happened in the time that you were away that you'd want to talk about?" Hosea said, squinting.

Arthur looked at him, raised a brow, but said nothing. When Hosea realized he would only stay quiet, he continued.

"Arthur, I - All it is is that I'm worried about you. I'm not going to judge you or think you're weak, whatever you're thinking. And if you don't want to say anything, that's fine. I just -" Hosea stopped, wondering if he would regret what he'd say next. "I heard what Bill said to you, all those days ago, but I'm not going to assume anything, and you don't need to tell me. I didn't know what he meant by it, and -"  
"Stop." Arthur's voice was cold, almost threatening. Hosea shut his mouth, watching him steadily. "Swamp fella is no one. He is no one to me. I am no one to him."  
"I'm sorry, Arthur." Hosea said. He thought that was that, but Arthur continued.  
"He is no one. Fucking no one. That son of a bitch is dead, and should've been dead the day he was born for all I care. But he's dead now, and a nobody to everybody."  
Hosea said nothing. He watched the way Arthur's eyes shifted side to side, as if ghosts surrounded him at every turn. His breath grew heavy, and behind the thin veil of rage was the way Arthur's brows furrowed in such a sorrowful way that Hosea wished he could see inside his head. One moment he was calm, he was fine, he was quiet. Then the next, in the now, he looked deeply unsettled, distressed, like he was being hunted from an unknown direction. He was going downhill fast.

"Arthur," Hosea's voice was quiet, soft.

Arthur started to lose control of his breath, slipping past his lips in quick bursts.  
Hosea had seen others do that, but not Arthur. It came as a surprise, moreso than the extremely rare moments he saw him cry.  
Arthur collasped to his knees, holding himself tight. He was no longer in control of how he reacted. His nails dig hard and deep into his own skin, as if trying to draw blood.  
Ignoring the creak and pain in his knees, Hosea kneeled in front of him. "Arthur. Look at me."  
Arthur hesitantly obeyed, slowly bringing his watery eyes up to Hosea's. 

Hosea breathed in deep and slow, held it for a few seconds, then released it just as slow.  
"Copy me." Hosea said, then repeated the breathing pattern.  
Arthur tried and struggled to followed suit, but with each breath, he gradually relaxed more and more. Still clearly in distress, his body trembling like a leaf on a windy night, but not looking as if though he were about to skitter off like a rat.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out until several minutes later.  
"I'm awful." He finally said. "I - I don't know what happened. I do, but I don't. I'm just broken. Finally lost my head. We watch people die, kill people, rob people, strip people of everything they got -" his voice started to break again - "w-we hurt people. I deserve this. I - I deserve this. I'm not a man. I'm not strong. I'm nothing but a piece of shit. I'm the very thing I hate the most, and I deserved what was comin' for me. It was so stupid. It was a surprise I didn't break earlier. I should've been killed. I should be long dead."

Hosea's heart broke at the way Arthur spoke, spite held heavy in every word he said.  
"He should've killed me. Left me to die. Instead, I fuckin' lived, and I wish I hadn't."  
"Arthur, what happened?" Hosea's voice was gentle.  
It was almost as if Arthur didn't listen. "I wish I was dead."

It was enough of an answer for Hosea, as even before then he had a good guess of what happened. It made him feel sick, desperately wanting to assume it was something else, but no.  
He heard the words in his long life before. He saw the emotions, the deep seeded distress, and he saw it this time in Arthur.  
If he could've shot the bastard that had done this to the man he considered to be his son, he would, and he would plant a bullet in every inch of that man's body.  
Now he knew that he could only go forward, only try to prevent Arthur from getting more hurt, do anything to soothe his pain.

"Arthur, I know you. I've known you for twenty years now, and I can tell you, with all of that, you do _not_ deserve this. You may have hurt people, done terrible things, and so have I, but I know that you most certainly don't deserve this. No one does. What happened doesn't reflect on you in the slightest." Hosea wet his lips, inhaled, and shifted his position to be more comfortable. "Arthur, you have a good heart with good intentions. With the way you grew up with your father, then me and Dutch, the way you were raised with us, you're as good of a person as you can be as an outlaw. And it's not to justify anything, it's just the truth. You are far harder on yourself than you need to be, and it's unfair you put what happened on you on your fault, much less anyone else's but the man who did this to you."

Arthur jerked his head down, breath shaky, though not similar to the hyperventilation he experienced before. He hid his eyes, and from what Hosea could assume, he was crying.

Hosea slowly rested his hand on Arthur's back, and when he made no move to pull away from the touch, he rubbed circles into it.  
"If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. I learned way too late in life that you don't need to be alone to deal with the weight of the world on your shoulders. It's not weak to ask for a little help. We're meant to depend on eachother." Hosea said.  
Arthur wiped his eyes.  
"Thank you, Hosea. I... can't appreciate it enough." His voice was tired, broken, but meaning just as strong.  
He gave him a light, yet firm pat. "Always." He smiled, and received a smile back that seemed the most genuine that he'd seen out of Arthur in what felt like forever.

The silence that hung over them was comfortable, and they stayed that way until Hosea could feel the tree behind them making indents on his skin. 

It was nearly completely dark when Arthur slapped his knees, then rose up. "Well, I haven't eaten yet. I'm starved."  
Hosea laughed, perhaps a bit too loud. "Me too. Let's see if there's anything left of the stew."

With that, they scraped at the last remaining pieces of Pearson's stew, then sat comfortably together by the campfire. They listened to the stories other gang members told as the sound of Javier's guitar flowed in the air.  
Arthur snorted at something Charles said, nearly choking on a bit of meat from the stew as he did so.  
It was noticeable that Arthur felt lighter, a weight off his shoulders.

Hosea grinned. He was glad.


	5. Breath Easier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds a way to move on.

The next day, Arthur nervously fumbled with his fingers, still lingering on the events of the previous day.

Though he had clear reason to, he felt ashamed. He lost control, and showed Hosea a vulnerable side of him that no one had seen in several years. It made him feel weak, though he tried to remind himself of his words about such.

His hands shook, watching from across the camp as Hosea sat across Tilly on a bench. The two were speaking, and as Arthur approached, they stopped as Hosea waved to him to come join them.  
Arthur sat down next to Hosea, slumped over slightly.  
"Hey, Arthur. What's goin' on?" Tilly asked, smiling.  
"Ah, nothin'." He said, then, deciding to get straight to the point, "mind if I borrow Hosea a minute?"  
"Yeah, go ahead. We wasn't talkin' about much."

Hosea nodded, silently agreeing to Arthur's request as well. Arthur got up, gestured for Hosea to follow suit as he walked to the outskirts of camp. When Arthur found a spot he was sure was safe from the eavesdropping ears of the gang and hidden just enough, he stopped there.

He stood there, quiet. Hosea did the same, lighting a cigarette and smoking as he leaned up against a tree.  
Arthur felt that same nausea bubbling up in his chest something fierce. That feeling that made his hands sweat and shake, made his body feel heavy. He tried to use the same breathing technique Hosea told him the previous day, and though it didn't entire relieve him of the burden of what he had come to confess, it did help.  
He knew he had to tell someone now. Someone he trusted. No one better now than Hosea.

"You know a few weeks back, when I came back that one day and I just... seemed like a different man, so y'all are tellin' me?" Arthur began. His eyes lazily traced the silhouette of a raven just overhead, cawing loudly into the morning.

"I was in the bayou. Looking around for god knows what, can't even remember no more. Didn't even go near the Grizzlies. Was just lookin' around the swamps when I found a stranger's home. He invited me in for some food, and I was thinkin' - 'you know what? This is a trap.' But I bit, because I thought maybe I can just rob him, soon as I got inside. I stepped through the door, hand on the handle and -" Arthur's breath hitched. Fuck. He was reliving it again like he did every day, every night, in any capacity. He was certainly not used to it, but he knew he could manage it, knew that in spite of the way his skin crawled, in spite of the way disgust and grief trickled through his body, that he wanted to tell him.

It had to be real this time, for every corner and turn Arthur took, it was there, and if letting it be real was the only option he had left, then by God he had to take it. He was tired of denying it, tired of running from it.  
"I don't mind how many details you spare. No pressure." Hosea said, but Arthur shook his head.

"No, I really want to talk about this. It's eaten me alive for weeks now, and it will keep doin' it the longer I live with it, but I don't want to keep running from it. It's just hurtin' me more." His voice held a certain volume of anger, though it was clear it was directed at no one.  
"I stepped through the door, and when I did, he was fast. Faster than me. Got me in the back of the head, knocked me out cold. I was half-conscious, tryin' to fight him off, struggling, but he chained me up. Said all sorts of nasty things to me. He had me like a rabbit in a trap. I couldn't get out, no matter how hard I tried." Arthur was struggling to process even his own words, and when he slowly did, the next words he said started to break up in his voice. "I - I got hurt. Real bad. He did things to me that made me wish I died. Not just torture. I -"  
Arthur's shaking was more obvious. The word he completely and utterly loathed. "I think he raped me, Hosea."

He dared to look in Hosea's direction. His expression was near unreadable with the way he frowned, focused entirely on what Arthur was saying. It was clear he was thinking, but Arthur decided it best not to ask what he thought.  
"S-some of it I remember, some of it I don't 'cause I blacked out. But what I do remember - I - I don't like it. It haunts me. It haunts me physically. It's like a ghost under my skin, in my head. I don't wish it on anyone." Tears freely fell from his eyes with little care anymore. He let them go as he let the words fly out of his mouth.  
"He did all that to me then dumped me in a field after like a pile of pig shit. And I was so, so _angry._ Couldn't see nothin' past killing him, so I did. I went back, tied him up, threw him to an alligator that mauled and bit his head off, and I watched. And he may have deserved it. He could've done this to other folks, too, and if I hadn't killed him, would've done it to more. The fucked up part is I wish I hadn't done it. I wish I could just see him, alive, ask him why he did it. Show him how badly it fucked me up. Show him just exactly why he deserves to die before he does. I - I don't know."

Arthur sucked in a breath, feeling almost like he'd throw up with how much he had just told him, told him so many of the things that went through his head. 

His voice was reduced to a whimper. "I don't like living like this. I'm different, and I don't like it Hosea." His breath shook. "I don't even mean to be self-pitying, it just... hurts. It really hurts."

Hosea took one last puff of his cigarette before dropping it, crushing it under his heel as he stepped in close to Arthur.

"Arthur." Hosea's voice was stern, albeit strained. "Thank you for telling me this. "

Arthur was surprised at his response, but listened.

"What you're dealing with is horrible, and a little self-pity is not only understandable, but normal. You have no need to be ashamed of it. No need to feel bad about what you feel at all." Hosea paused, contemplating his next words. "You know what it means, to move forward, especially when it's something you can't reverse. It's what we always do. But moving forward doesn't have to mean you can't or shouldn't feel it. It means don't dwell on it. Try not to let yourself sink into it. Expose yourself, bit by bit, until it's easier. Know how to carry yourself, fake it 'till you make it."

Arthur slowly looked over to make eye contact. Hosea's expression was sorrowful, yet soft.

"And you don't need to do it alone. If you ever want to talk about things like we are now, just so you know, I'd be fine with it. I don't want you to be alone in dealing with all of this." Hosea said.

Arthur felt stray tears fall from already dried up eyes. He took every word to heart, thinking it over. It was then he moved to gently grab Hosea's arm, testing how he felt about it before he pulled him into a hug. Discomfort itched at him, but he ignored it, giving into the embrace of the shorter man. The man he considered to be a father, far better than his own had ever been.

"Thank you. So much." Arthur's voice broke mid-sentence.

"Hey, anytime." There was a smile in Hosea's tone. They pulled away, and as Arthur wiped the tears and snot from his face, Hosea tilted his head slightly. "Hey, how's about you come with me to town, get some groceries and medicine for the camp? Maybe a little fresh air will help."

"Ain't no fresh air in that rotten old town." Arthur said as he sniffled, recalling Rhodes. The only thing he liked about it was, oddly enough, the red sand. Though it got kicked up everywhere, at least it was pretty, but there was nothing else he liked otherwise.

Hosea let out a hearty laugh. "You're right. Just sayin', maybe getting out of camp can help clear your mind."

He nodded. A chore, but Arthur was happy to take the opportunity anyway. "Sho'. Time I got away from these miserable bastards, anyway, other than yours truly." He cracked a slight smile.

A feeling of dread still lingered, but above all, an immense weight had been lifted off his shoulders, one he realized he forgot just how big it actually was.

Arthur Morgan felt like he could breathe again. It didn't reverse what happened, but it was the next best thing. Even on the ride to and from Rhodes, he felt so much lighter than he felt like he had in years.

Maybe he was going to be okay.

He felt, and knew, that he was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this fic. I'm thinking of making a Charles x Arthur fic connected to this story if anyone's interested. I'll see if I can link it here if/when I make it c:
> 
> Anyway now that I'm done with this beast, if y'all have anymore thoughts let me know. I hope y'all liked my first fic, though feel free to leave some light critiques as I mentioned in the beginning, I'd love to improve!


End file.
